Crooked Numbers (33 page)

“I’m just going over to Mrs. Lee’s, Allison.”

“And last night we were just going to my apartment.”

I nodded and hugged her back. “Gotcha.”

*

When I got down to the street, I found Uncle Ray in front of my apartment. He was standing outside the door, cigar in his mouth, studying the buzzers.

“Number five,” I said as I exited the building.

“I’d probably know that,” he answered, “if you had names next to the numbers. Or—God forbid—I were ever invited by.”

“Consider yours an open invitation, Uncle Ray. What’s up?”

He took the cigar out of his mouth and smiled. “‘What’s up?’” he repeated. “That’s good, Nephew. Why the hell didn’t you call me last night?”

“It was a Saturday night,” I said. “I had a date.”

“I know. With Allison Rogers, the journalist.”

“How’d you know—? Who called you?” I asked. “Johnson or Johnson?”

“Their CO called me. Captain Doherty. Do I have to explain to you again that simply by virtue of our sharing a name, you cannot have official contact with the police in this city—especially if you’re assaulted—without my knowing about it?”

“I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

“You,” he said, “didn’t want me knowing you still had your nose in Murcer’s case. Still hanging around with the girl from the press.”

“It was a date, Uncle Ray. It had nothing to do with the case.”

“Until the assault, you mean.”

I noticed his town car parked across the street with no one in the driver’s seat.

“Where’s Smitty?” I asked.

“Went to have a smoke.”

“Can’t he smoke in the car?”

“I don’t like people smoking in my car.”

I looked down at his cigar. “Really?”

“I don’t like
other
people smoking in my car. And don’t change the subject. Why are you still hanging around with the reporter, Raymond?”

“We were on a date, Uncle Ray. It’s what people do when they like each other.”

He took a drag off his cigar and let it out slowly. “You both okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

He took the rest of the cigar, pressed the lit end into the brick wall, and tossed it into the street.

“Take me upstairs and make me a cup of coffee,” he said. “I gotta be somewhere in an hour and don’t want to sit in the car. We need to talk some more about this.”

He stepped toward the door. I put my hand on the door handle and said, “I’m just on my way out, Uncle Ray.” I realized I couldn’t tell him I was going to see Mrs. Lee. “How about we talk tomorrow?”

He looked me in the eyes for about five seconds and smiled. “You got the girl up there, don’tcha, Ray?”

How the hell
— “How the hell did you know that?”

“You got that look in your eyes. Like you just got laid, and it’s gonna happen again as soon as you get back. You’re screwing the lady reporter. Jesus, Ray. You can’t find a nice schoolteacher?”

I shook my head and smiled. “We thought it would be safer if she stayed with me for a few days,” I said.

“I bet you did, Nephew.” He took me by the elbow. “Where you going? I’ll have Smitty swing you on by.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “It’s a quick shot on the subway.”

“On a Sunday? You can wait a half hour for the G train. Let Smitty take you. It’ll save you time and get you back to your girlfriend that much quicker.”

“She’s not my— Thanks anyway, Uncle Ray. I’d rather take the train.”

“You’d rather,” he said, “not have me know where you’re going.”

Someday I’ll put one past my uncle. Today was not that day.

“I’ll be fine, Uncle Ray. Let’s talk in the next few days.”

He grabbed me by the elbow and held me this time. With his eyes fixed on mine, he said, “You stay out of this case, Ray. You’ve been lucky so far. Luck runs out, kiddo.”

“I’m out, Uncle Ray. I just got some errands to run.” I gently removed his hand from my elbow. I was surprised he let me. “Listen, I got ten days off coming up in a few weeks. Why don’t you and Reeny come over for dinner? You can even bring Smitty.”

“That’s cute,” he said. “I’ll talk it over with Reeny. She’s always bugging me to take her into the city anyway.”

“Good. Let’s talk this week and set it up. We’ll do an early dinner, and then you guys can hit Manhattan.”

“You gonna bring your girlfriend?”

“If we’re still seeing each other, I’ll invite her. I’m sure she’ll be completely charmed.”

“Keep spreading it, Raymond. Pretty soon you’ll be up to your knees in it.”

“I hear you, Uncle Ray.”

“I hope you do, Nephew. I truly hope you do.”

*

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” Mrs. Lee said as she opened the door.

We stepped inside and, when we got to the living room, I said, “What is it, Mrs. Lee? Did something happen?”

“No,” she said. “Well, I guess something
did
happen, but I don’t…”

I pointed to the couch. “Would you rather sit and tell me?”

“No,” she said, a touch of determination in her voice now. “I need to show you something, and the sooner I get it over with, the better.” She took a deep breath. “It’s in Douglas’s room.”

She started off in that direction, so I followed. The door to Dougie’s room was shut. Mrs. Lee turned to me and took another breath. She put her hand on the doorknob, turned it, and stepped inside. Again, I was right behind her.

She flicked on the light switch. The room had been straightened up since the last time I was in there. Everything had been picked up off the floor, and the bed had been completely stripped.

“I’ve been cleaning up,” Mrs. Lee said.

“I can see that.”

“I’m donating everything to Goodwill. Not the pillows, of course, or the stuff on the walls, but everything else.” She paused. “I was told it would help.”

“That sounds like good advice,” I said.

“It was,” she agreed, then she stepped over to the closet and slid open the door. “Until I started in on the closet and Douglas’s clothes.”

I looked into the closet but still had no idea what she was talking about.

“What’s wrong with the closet?”

She reached into the pocket of one of Dougie’s jackets, then handed me a photograph of Dougie and Alexis Quinn, embracing, nose-to-nose. It certainly looked like they were more than just acquaintances.

“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that,” Mrs. Lee said. “It’s just, Douglas never mentioned any girls to me, and I have no idea who that is.”

“Jack Quinn’s twin sister,” I said. “I met her outside the hospital the other day.”

“Were they serious?”

“Not according to what she told me.”

Now that I thought about it, Alexis probably didn’t want her relationship with Dougie to become common knowledge. An Upper West Side white girl with a black boy from Williamsburg might play well with their friends, but from what Mr. Rivera had told me, I doubted Mr. Quinn would approve.

“Is this why you called me over, Mrs. Lee?”

She shook her head and reached into another jacket pocket. Again, she handed me what she had pulled out.

“That,” she said. “That’s what is wrong, Mr. Donne.”

It was an amber prescription pill bottle. The label had Paulie Sherman’s name on it and said the container originally had ninety doses of a drug I was quite familiar with as a special ed guy. I opened the bottle. There were five white pills left.

“I don’t know what Douglas was doing with that,” Mrs. Lee said. “He was not taking any medications. Why would Paulie give him that? I don’t even know that doctor or that pharmacy. They’re in Manhattan.” She pointed at the pill bottle. “Do you know what drug that is?”

I nodded. “If the label’s correct,” I said, “it’s one of the most widely prescribed medications in the nation, used to treat Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder.”

Mrs. Lee gave me a blank look.

“ADHD,” I said.

“Oh, my Lord. Douglas was not taking any medications, Mr. Donne. He was never diagnosed with anything like that. After he left you, Upper West Academy did a full evaluation. They never said anything about attention problems.”

But, I remembered, Mr. Rivera had told me both Paulie and Jack were on medication for ADHD. I looked at the label again. “Did you call anybody about this?

“No,” she said. “I found that and called you.”

My curiosity started to rise and, before it got me in trouble again, I said, “I think you need to call Detective Murcer, Mrs. Lee. This is something he needs to know about.”

Instead of agreeing with me, she got a look on her face. I waited.

“There’s more,” she finally said.

“Okay…”

She pointed inside the closet. “In there,” she said. “All the way to the right on the floor. In the shoebox.”

“I have your permission to go in there?”
Cop instinct,
I thought. Getting the owner’s okay before conducting a search, preventing some smart-ass lawyer from declaring the evidence obtained from said search inadmissible. The proverbial fruit from the poisonous tree.
Good thing I wasn’t a cop anymore.

“Yes,” Mrs. Lee said. “Please.”

I stepped into the closet and slid all of Dougie’s hanging clothes to the left. I moved to the right, bent over, and picked up the shoebox. It was heavier than I thought it would be. I took two backward steps out of the closet.

“It was under a bunch of his sports jerseys,” Mrs. Lee explained.

I opened the box and immediately realized why Mrs. Lee was so upset. Inside was a gallon-sized baggie filled with blue-and-white capsules. I guessed somewhere between two and three hundred of them.

“Wow,” I said, because I didn’t want to say “holy shit” in front of Mrs. Lee.

“Yes,” she said. “You can see why I called
you,
Mr. Donne.”

I nodded. “I
can
see why you called me, Mrs. Lee. But I gotta tell you, this is even more reason why you should call Detective Murcer.”

She shook her head. “So he can have more reason to believe that Douglas was involved in drugs?”

Good point. But the shoebox I held was proof Dougie
was
involved with drugs. How, I didn’t know. But in some way.

“I’m not sure what you want me to do, Mrs. Lee. This is pretty serious stuff.”

I opened the baggie, took one capsule out, and rolled it between my fingers. There was a four-digit number, followed by two letters, printed on it.

“Why would Douglas have those, Mr. Donne?”

“That’s a real good question, Mrs. Lee. You obviously…”
Of course she didn’t.
“Did Dougie ever…”
Of course he didn’t.… Okay, time for a cop question.
“Was there
anything
—now that you are aware of what Dougie had in his closet—that would make you believe he was involved with drugs or drug use in any way?”

She shook her head. “Like what, Mr. Donne?”

“Was he getting a lot of phone calls at night he didn’t want you hearing? Did he have more money than he should have?”

As Mrs. Lee listened to my questions, her eyes filled with tears. “Now you sound like that detective when he first came over here.”

“Because,” I said, “these are the kinds of questions Murcer would ask if he knew about Dougie’s stash.”
Nice choice of words, Ray.
“If he knew this stuff was here.”

Her eyes overflowed, and the tears ran down both cheeks.
It looked like she was real glad she had called me now.
I reached out and put my hand on her elbow.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Lee,” I said. “But the truth is, Douglas was into something, and he was doing a pretty good job hiding it from you.”

“I know,” she said through the tears. “I know.” She wiped away the tears with the back of her hand. “Like I told you that day, he’d been having trouble sleeping and he was snapping at me a bit. I just thought it was Douglas being a teenager.”

“These,” I said, rattling the pill bottle, “are stimulants. That’s why they work so well reducing the symptoms of ADHD. If Dougie were taking them, that’s most likely why he was having trouble sleeping. They’ve also been known to have other
adverse
effects on kids’ behavior. Loss of appetite. Mood swings.” I looked at the single blue-and-white capsule I held. “These other ones, I don’t have a clue.”

She nodded. “What I don’t know is … what do I do now?”

“You’re telling me you didn’t call anyone else about this? A friend? Someone from the church? Dougie’s uncle?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

“Okay. Good.”
No, Ray. Not good.
“I mean, for right now, no one else knows about this except you and me. It buys us some time to think.”

“Think about what?”

“What to do with this,” I said, shaking the baggie filled with capsules. “I honestly don’t see how we can keep this from Murcer.” She was about to say something, but I kept going. “For now,” I said, “we say nothing to anybody.”

“Okay.” She sounded relieved.

I took a few more capsules out of the baggie and put them, loose, in my pocket. Then I zippered up the baggie and put it back in the shoebox before returning it to its original hiding place in the corner of the closet floor. Then I put the amber pill bottle into my other pocket.

“Let me think on this, Mrs. Lee. The first thing that comes to mind is contacting the doctor who prescribed these pills and the pharmacist who filled the order. I can do that tomorrow, after school.”

“Okay,” she said, nodding her approval. “Then what?”

“Honestly?” I said. “I have no idea. But I have to tell you, if I find out Dougie was involved in any ille—
questionable
—activity, I am going to have to let Detective Murcer know.” Before she could protest I added, “It’ll help him find whoever killed Dougie, Mrs. Lee. There’s no way this is not connected.”

I watched as she struggled with that concept. I had basically just told her Dougie had probably been killed over drugs. Just what the cops told her the morning she’d lost her son. Again I found myself wondering if she was sorry she had called me.

“Okay,” she whispered. “If that’s what it takes to find out who killed my boy, so be it.” She looked me dead in the eyes. “But I will tell you, Mr. Donne. My hand to God.” She raised her right hand above her head. “My Douglas was not dealing drugs. Whatever reason he had these pills, and the marijuana they found on his body, he was not dealing.”